A Question of Worth
by Sparkle Itamashii
Summary: "What makes you so sure I won't rip your throat out the second I can move again?" "Because you haven't," Stiles said simply.
1. Chapter One

Author: Sparkle Itamashii

Title: A Question of Worth

Notes: The last few lines of dialogue are transcribed from the fourth episode of season 2. This is meant to take place during the two unseen hours of treading water at the pool, thus it leads directly into the actual episode happenings.

* * *

**A Question of Worth**

**Chapter One  
**

The pool was quiet save for their shallow breathing and the soft splash of water from Stiles' hand as he tread water. His other hand was wrapped tightly under Derek's arms, around his chest to keep his head above water. For a time the scaled creature that had been stalking them had paced the edge of the pool, touching the water and then recoiling, hissing and glaring. Eventually it had seemed to decide that they would either come out or drown, and was content to wait for either.

"If I could just-"

"No, Stiles."

"But it's right-"

"Can you hold it and call someone and keep me alive?" Derek growled for the fifth or sixth time in the hour they'd been keeping afloat.

"Well, no, but-"

"Do you think you can you even reach the phone before that thing does?" he asked with even less patience.

Stiles scowled at the phone where it lay on the deck and continued to tread water. Derek closed his eyes, trying to remain calm despite the panic he felt at the paralysis. He knew that it was temporary, but it should have begun to wear off by now- his body healed fast, including purging toxins but they'd already been in the water for over an hour and there was very little improvement in his mobility. He could sense the fatigue Stiles felt, knew that if the human's strength ran out they might well both be done for. It only made him angrier that he had to rely on the boy for life.

"What if we-"

"Stiles," Derek bit out, eyes flashing red. "One more word, and I swear that thing is going to be the least of your worries."

"You know, it's really not that smart to be threatening the guy keeping your ass afloat," Stiles said conversationally. "I could just let go and take my chances."

Derek growled. "You won't make it out of here alive."

"It left me alive once," Stiles pointed out.

Rolling his eyes, Derek tamped down on his anger. "Against my better judgment, so have I."

"Seems like a pretty fine idea at the moment, now doesn't it?" They lapsed into silence, Stiles staring longingly at the phone Derek glaring around as best he could to catch a glimpse of the creature that had disappeared. "You won't," he said after a while.

"What?" Derek snapped, patience for Stiles' chatter fraying.

"Kill me," Stiles said, as if his segue was perfectly natural. "You won't do it."

"Just because I _can't_ at the moment-"

"Not just can't," Stiles interrupted. He ignored Derek's attempt to look sideways at him. "I mean you won't. Not now, maybe not ever."

"I disagree."

"Disagree all you want, wolf man," Stiles said. Somewhere in the back of his mind that small voice of reason was telling him Derek wouldn't be paralyzed forever and that continuing this conversation was a bad idea, but the rest of him was angry at not having said something sooner. "It won't make you right."

"What makes you so sure I won't rip your throat out the second I can move again?"

"Because you haven't," Stiles said simply. "Because you owe me. Because you need us. Because you don't deserve to be alpha." Stiles' eyes widened and his heart started beating faster when he realized what he had blurted. Sure, he had thought it before, had spent a lot of time hating Derek for taking away any chance Scott had of becoming normal again, but he knew how dangerous a statement it was.

Derek's fingers twitched, a good sign which he ignored in order to continue visualizing his hands around Stiles' throat. A vision he decided should be carried out as soon as he could get out of the pool and away from the creature laying in ambush for them. "I killed the Alpha," he snarled.

Anger flared up inside Stiles and he figured as long as he was going to die anyway, he may as well make it worth it. "You may have struck the deathblow, but you didn't kill the Alpha. We did."

Something inside of Derek faltered at the declaration; it was the same concept which had haunted him since he had swiped his claws across the throat of the former alpha werewolf. He had taken the killing blow, but it was the human who had laid the opportunity. It was Jackson and it was... Stiles. And the idea burned him as surely as it had burned the alpha.

"Doesn't matter," he clipped out, but the words were as tight as his throat.

"You know it does," Stiles answered. "You couldn't have done it alone. The kill belonged to Scott. You're not an alpha... you're a scavenger."

Derek closed his eyes, but had no response for that. Silence settled between them as Stiles considered how much considerably shorter he had just made his lifespan by speaking his mind to Derek while Derek battled with the stone of doubt that had settled into his stomach. They both knew that Stiles was right about the kill; Derek would not have brought down the Alpha without the aid of Scott and his friends. But the death of the Alpha was not brought about by one fight and he had been a part of cornering him. He had been tracking the Alpha, following the trails, keeping the teenagers safe as best as he could- he had been nearly killed by the Alpha in the school parking lot. Would surely have been killed if the Alpha had not gotten distracted trying to kill the teens. Even this idea lead him back to the words Stiles had uttered: 'You don't deserve to be alpha.'

"You think someone else could do better?" Derek asked softly after a time. "Maybe Scott?" He paused, looked sideways at Stiles. "Maybe you?"

"No," Stiles said quickly.

"Maybe I should give you the bite and let you find out?" Derek needled, picking up on how uncomfortable the suggestion made the human.

"No," Stiled repeated firmly. "And you people really need to stop asking me that."

"You people?" Derek said the instant before the boy's meaning dawned on him. "The Alpha offered you the bite?" he asked incredulously, then his eyes widened as another realization struck. "You refused it."

"Yes," Stiles clipped, irritated. "I don't want to be like you."

"Don't want to be stronger?" Derek asked, spitting out water as Stiles' tread faltered. "Don't want to heal faster, run faster, be able to protect yourself better?"

"Don't want to be afraid," Stiles interrupted before he could continue.

Derek bit his tongue, forgetting for a moment that Stiles couldn't hear his heart beat faster if he lied. He closed his eyes again, working on breathing around the water that was getting closer to his nose as Stiles tired.

The scrape of scale on tile drew Stiles' attention toward the deck. He turned slightly in the water so that he could face the beast, and Derek again felt the fatigue in the boy's muscles, the loosening of his grip upon the werewolf. He began to open his eyes again, to take stock of the situation.

"Ok," Stiles declared, breaking the silence. "Ok, I don't think I can't do this much more."

Whether 'this' meant argue with Derek or continue treading water, Derek wasn't sure, but he saw where the teen's eyes were locked - upon the smart phone at the edge of the pool - and panic set in.

"No! No, nonono!" He exclaimed. He couldn't fight yet and there was no way Stiles could combat the creature if it got to the phone first. Even if he fetched the phone, he would have to let go of Derek to call anyone. "Don't even think about it!"

"Would you just trust me this once?" Stiles asked, exasperated. Perhaps he could redeem himself enough to live if he could get hold of someone that could save them. "I'm the one keeping you alive, ok? Have you noticed that?" A reminder that, once again, Stiles was saving Derek, not the other way around.

"Yeah," Derek snapped. "And when the paralysis wears off, who's going to be able to fight that thing, you or me?"

Stiles snorted, biting back the comments he wanted to make about how well the werewolf had fared against his other opponents - the Alpha, Kate, even Scott. "Ok, so that's why I've been holding you up the past two hours?"

"Yeah. You don't trust me," Derek snarled. "And I don't trust you. But you need me to survive... which is why you're _not_ letting me go."

For a moment they glared at one another. Derek kept tight rein on his fear that Stiles would decide he didn't need Derek to survive... that Stiles would decide he could leave Derek to drown and find a way past the creature as he had already escaped it once... that Stiles would be right.

Stiles, on the other hand, was tired. Angry. Annoyed that despite everything, Derek persisted in insisting he was the strongest when Stiles knew better. He knew that without the support of the people around him, as in the case with the Alpha, Derek was just as helpless as any of them would be alone. It was in numbers, amongst friends, in a "pack" as Derek so enjoyed putting it, that they were strongest.

And, Stiles decided, it was about time he proved this to the werewolf.

Without breaking eye contact, Stiles released his hold.


	2. Chapter Two

Author: Sparkle Itamashii

Title: A Question of Worth

Notes: There are things I should be doing that aren't writing Teen Wolf Fanfiction, and I was going to leave this as a simple one shot... but I couldn't stop thinking about it.

* * *

**Chapter Two  
**

Derek unfolded himself from where he had curled up upon one of the train seats, extracting himself from the soft cushion he had placed there in lieu of having an actual bed. The other two were sleeping, Erica beside him, Isaac across from them. He could smell that the third had left for the night. Not for hunting, he decided, drawing in the scent around him. To work, paving the ice rink.

Satisfied that he would be unobserved, he slipped past the two betas, careful not to make a sound as he lifted his jacket, checked the time. Almost midnight. They would sleep for another two hours, perhaps three if he was lucky. They may not have needed less sleep than humans, but they took it in smaller doses. He wouldn't count on being lucky, would return as swiftly as he could.

The train doors were open when he reached them and he was glad that the tunnel had only the faintest of breezes. Even in the summer the underground tunnel was cold. He passed through them with only one glance back to make sure that his pack was truly asleep, was safe, before he shifted and silently bounded up the stairs and out of the abandoned station.

There was no scratch of tire to denote that he had left, only a silence that seemed to stretch onward forever, settling over the area like dust.

"Where do you think he goes?" Isaac asked softly, opening his eyes only when he was sure Derek had escaped beyond even enhanced hearing. He let his heartbeat return to normal, listened as Erica's did the same across from him. They had gotten better at fooling their mentor... or perhaps he was just too distracted to observe them closely.

Erica shifted so that she could see him across the abandoned train, gave him a bland look. "Where do you think?"

"I don't know," Isaac said testily. "That's why I asked."

She sighed, trying not to roll her eyes too hard. "For having a head start on this whole werewolf thing, you're not very quick," she told him, turning back so that she could view the doorway through which their Alpha had disappeared. It was dark, uninviting.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he growled.

"Use your nose," she told him, but more gently because she didn't have to look at him to know there was amber in his eyes. They'd had their spats, and though they were both betas, he outranked her on a more subtle level. "Every night he comes back smelling like ash and coal and damp." She turned her attention to behind her without moving. "Like sadness," she added.

Isaac pursed his lips, anger subsiding to be replaced by guilt. "Oh," he said quietly, dropping his gaze to the floor of the train. "You think he goes to his old house?"

She hesitated. "I think he goes home. At least, goes there last."

"Last?" Isaac echoed, scuffing the toe of his shoe into the grime beneath them. The carpets at his house were much nicer, but Derek had forbidden all of them from sleeping there. "Where would he go first?"

She shook her head as though to shake away the notion, dismiss it. Thinking better of it, she shrugged. "It's not our business, or he wouldn't try to hide it but... I can smell them anyway."

"The humans?" Isaac guessed.

She nodded once, shifted to make herself more comfortable. She rested her folded arms along the windowsill and put her chin atop them as she considered the truth of it. "Some of them, at least," she said at last. "Maybe all of them. I don't recognize all of them well enough to say, but... some of them."

At least one of them, she thought to herself, pushing aside the jealousy. She only recognized one of the scents, the only one she could find from anywhere, knew as well as she knew Derek's or Isaac's. One scent that she could tell apart from others, through any mask.

Stiles.

"Why them?" Isaac asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Eyes closing, she gave another shrug. "Who knows?" she told him softly.

But she knew. Derek had told her, told all of them, that he had taken the life of the previous Alpha, in retribution for his sister's death. He had expected Scott to follow him, to become the first member of his pack. Instead, Scott had turned from him, refused to recognize him. What Derek didn't say spoke as loudly as the words he had. Yes, he had turned her, had turned Isaac and Boyd. But that was the problem.

_He_ had turned them.

They owed him a certain amount of loyalty for the gift of the bite. Scott didn't. The previous Alpha had turned Scott, and both wolves were acutely aware of the difference. Derek could claim Alpha status, his pack could recognize him as Alpha, but he didn't feel the status was validated. He wanted _their_ approval, the approval of the humans and their young leader. He had wanted _them_ as his pack; she could see it every time he looked at them, feel it in the way he held himself, the way they managed to get under his skin. She heard it in every quickened heartbeat when he spoke to them, and she knew that, even though they had rejected him as Alpha, he still wanted them. He still felt that they belonged to him, still felt that they fell under his jurisdiction. Under his responsibility.

He was _theirs_ as much as they were _his_ and she had to remind herself not to be jealous.

"I'd guess he's keeping an eye on them," she said finally, disturbing the thoughtful silence that had crept up around them. "Standing guard. Protecting them."  
Isaac's mind turned to the way Derek had gotten between him and Stiles at the police department. The anger that had emanated from the Alpha, the exultant expression when he had turned to tell the human that he, Derek, was the Alpha. Had he been protecting the boy, or had he been showing off? Showing the human as well as the beta that he was the leader?

Yet, he had been willing to kill Jackson, to kill Lydia. Took his pack to Scott's house only a couple days ago to kill her, when he thought she was the kanima. When Jackson had gotten away that night, it was Derek that had chased him down, fought him, tried to destroy him. He'd been furious when he returned empty handed, seething that Scott and Stiles had stolen Jackson after Derek had wounded him. He'd been ready to kill them, too... or at least Isaac had thought so.

"Why would he protect them?" Isaac asked after a time.

"Because he needs their help," she said. "Because he doesn't want to face all of this- our changes, the kanima, the Argents- alone." Erica huffed, almost a chuckle, a sigh of regret. "Because... he couldn't protect the others."

* * *

The air was cool and balmy, clearing his head as he ran. His first stop had been brief, a glance in at a sleeping, very human Jackson, returned to his home after being kidnapped by Scott and Stiles. He fought briefly with the idea of killing Jackson while he was weak, a soft human, but he had to let go of the thought. If he killed Jackson, they would not catch whoever was in control of him. So he slipped back into the night, leaving Jackson untouched.

Down the way, Lydia, who was not asleep but was also not in any danger. Her estate was clean of any unusual scents or signs, no trace of the hunters or kanima nearby. She was playing on the back porch with the small yappy dog she kept, a thin flashlight beam sketching a pattern on the cement in front of her as she sat curled up on a chair, talking to herself. The dog chased the pattern, oblivious to his master's oddities.

He might have skipped visiting the two outliers to Scott's pack, except that he couldn't be sure that Scott would not stop by their homes to check on them. In truth, he had caught the faint scent of the other wolf at both of the houses, but it was hours old at least; if Scott had stopped by, it was before sunset. Derek knew where he had gone, and he headed there next.

He discovered the young wolf at his usual post, just outside of Allison's window. Derek closed his eyes, listened to the steady rhythm of Scott's heartbeat, assured himself that there was no scent of blood, no fresh turned dirt that would have meant a scuffle. He was downwind of the teens, which allowed him to risk a slightly closer approach than he would normally have taken to see them.

Scott lay with his back against the roof, his legs pulled up to keep him on the roof outside her window. Derek could tell that he was on the verge of sleep, would lose himself to the gentle call soon enough. Despite the hunters sleeping a room away, despite the entirely real and immediate threat posed by her family, he insisted on keeping vigil over the human, over all the humans. There was a part of Derek that claimed he didn't understand the reasoning... but he did. Better than he cared to.

Love amongst his people ran strong and deep.

He closed his eyes, pushing away thoughts of his own past, of the girl whose window he had guarded as a kid.

When Scott's heartbeat slowed a few moments later, Derek turned away from the scene, dropping back to all fours and taking off for his last stop. The streets were empty at this time of night, devoid of the life that occupied them during daylight hours. He sped from shadow to shadow around the street lamps, conscious as always of the fact that someone could be watching through a window, sitting in a seemingly deserted car.

He scaled up the downspout along one side of the house when he reached it, prowling over the room with silent steps. The window was open, allowing in the cool breeze, and he settled himself beside it. The low heartbeat of the child within reached his ears, the soft huff of his breath in sleep. Derek felt himself relaxing, aware now that all those in his care were alive and well.

Sitting back against the roof, Derek took a few slow, deep breaths, letting his mind clear and settle. In a few minutes, he would return to the station now, with more than enough time to grab an hour of sleep before Erica and Isaac awoke. They would wake him when they had completed the exercises he'd shown them, and he would give them new ones and then take them hunting as his sister had done for him when they were young.

The memory cut deep as it surfaced, dragging with it all the events of the past weeks and months. Laura's fervor in searching for the creature that had invaded her territory. Her disappearance, and how he had returned only in enough time to watch her die. Finding out the one person that should have been able to take care of both of them was the one responsible, the one Derek would be forced to kill to protect himself and his oddly assorted pack of humans. The crushing loneliness when Scott had refused to join him, taking the humans with him...

Derek closed his eyes, brows knitting.

The sound of Stiles' heartbeat broke through his thoughts a moment later. They weren't gone, he reminded himself. And he had his own pack now, the trio of lonely teens he had taken under his wing, given the gift of power and confidence. His family had been taken from him, but he was choosing a new one now. Becoming a leader. An Alpha.

_You don't deserve to be Alpha._

Stiles' words from a few nights ago surfaced, and Derek felt a familiar sense of doubt claw at his belly. He hadn't been raised to be an Alpha. That had been Laura's path, what Laura had been groomed and trained to be. Where he had been able to roam free in his spare time, hunting or learning, even going to school with the humans, she had been kept close at hand, taught to lead. At night, she would share some of what she had learned with him, lore about the history of their people, battle techniques their parents would have frowned at her for teaching him. But what she shared was only a fraction of what she had learned.

The core of the issue bit at him. He wasn't _ready_ for this. He had taken an opportunity and now that he held it in both hands, he wasn't sure what to do with it. When he had been standing there, perched over the jeering Alpha's scorched, disfigured remains, everything had seemed so clear. Here, finally, he would take his revenge for his sister's death, save everyone - the kids, Scott, the Argents - from Peter's psychotic rampage. Scott would become his first beta and together they could bring around Stiles, take on the issue of the pushy, mouthy Jackson. Lydia, in the hospital with a bite from the Alpha, did not appear to be dying and so must she turn as well. He would have been glad to have her; despite how she sometimes acted, she was brilliant.

But Scott had rejected him, choosing Allison instead. Jackson went so far beyond hating him that his body had rejected the bite when Derek had finally given it to him. Lydia had healed without turning, somehow. And Stiles... Stiles blamed him.

_The kill belonged to Scott._

Instead of turning to him for leadership, they had left him alone at the gravesite of his entire family, left him to bury the last remaining member of his former pack alone.

Inside of the house, Stiles shifted, drawing Derek's attention to the kid. His eyes traced the outline of the boy's face and something within him reminded him that these were, in fact, kids. They were young and they were rash, opinionated outside of the boundaries of reason on occasion. They didn't see how much protection they actually needed, how vulnerable they really were. They didn't know that loving the wrong person could cost them their families. They didn't understand how important it was to be a part of a group that gave their life structure and guidance, gave them strength.

They didn't realize that they needed him.

He closed his eyes again, letting the light from the moon soak into his skin, and tried not to think about how much he needed them too.


	3. Chapter Three

Author: Sparkle Itamashii

Title: A Question of Worth

* * *

**Chapter Three  
**

The crosshatch of shade from his window crept slowly across his floor, lengthening ever so slightly as wakefulness nudged at him. Stiles stifled a groan, grasping at the last few shreds of the dreamworld before surrendering to consciousness. His eyes stayed closed as he yawned, stretched beneath the covers and then flopped over to repeat, face buried in his pillow. The weekend. Of course it would be the weekend when he could wake up to make it to school at an appropriate time, with no alarm. His eyes flickered to the stout clock perched on the edge of his nightstand and felt his heart skip a beat.

Someone was on the roof outside his window.

His first thought was Scott, but Scott would have come in and woken him.

Derek.

Swallowing thickly, Stiles slithered out from under the covers to the far side of his bed, wondering if he could make it to the bedroom door before the werewolf. He shouldn't have told Derek what he felt, about him not deserving to be Alpha. Then defying him, fighting off his betas the next night, letting the kanima escape. Stupid, he thought, mind ghosting over escape plans, over whether or not Scott would be able to hear if he screamed, and perhaps come rescue him. His dad wasn't home, but he would be soon.

Even as he worked himself into a tizzy, heartbeat like a hummingbird against his ribs, he realized that Derek hadn't moved. In fact, he was laying on his back, not moving at all, and Stiles actually couldn't even see his face. Cautiously, he climbed back onto the bed, leaning to peer over enough to see that the werewolf not only wasn't watching him, but wasn't watching anything.

He was sleeping.

Relief washed over Stiles and he scooted across the bed, walked to the window to get a closer look. Derek was on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes to block the light, knees up so that he wouldn't slide off the roof. Dressed in all black, he looked as though he had been prepared to go prowling about in the night, not sit atop Stiles' pale grey roof in broad daylight. Stiles was glad that this portion of the roof faced the backyard, secluding the obviously exhausted wolf from the public eye.

He looks younger, Stiles decided. Yes, he was older than him and his friends by a good five or six years, but he always acted as if it were centuries instead. He always _acted_ like he was so much older. It was easier to accuse him of horrible things when he was frowning, tensed to fight, ready to kill. Curled up and asleep, the light of dawn falling gently across him, it was hard to remember he was a werewolf at all.

Uncomfortable, Stiles shifted and backed a pace away from the window. Derek _was_ a werewolf, even by the light of day, a very dangerous one at that, and Stiles had given him what could be construed as a serious insult at the pool. He hadn't seen Derek alone since then, though he had been expecting some form of retaliation.

Instead, nothing but business as usual.

Which, of course, didn't mean nothing; it meant that Derek had been thinking about it, hadn't decided what he was going to do about it.

But he could have killed Stiles in the night. There was no reason to lay outside his window, to fall asleep. Stiles searched his memory, mind bouncing over the other times Derek had arrived at his house or sought him out. The first, when he was wanted by the police, on the run, he had slunk into Stiles' room for sanctuary, trusting that he wouldn't turn the werewolf over to the sheriff that lived under the same roof. The second, when he had come to school, collapsed only after finding Stile's jeep, the wolfsbane from the bullet seeping into his veins. Later, only days ago, when he had cornered Stiles at the pool, ended up needing his help to stay alive.

Now he was fast asleep on the roof of Stiles' house, outside of his bedroom window, alone.

"Once is an incident," he murmured. Twice is coincidence, three times is a pattern, his dad intoned into his memory.

_So what was the pattern?_ he asked himself.

When Derek is distressed, when he needs something, he seeks me out.

He looked at his clock, noted that his father would be home in less than half an hour. He couldn't trust that Derek would wake up on his own before then and recognized that having his father come home to a suspicious older guy on his roof might not be the best idea. Considering that the times Stiles' father had encountered Derek's name and visage had been in response to things like murder, it would in fact be a terrible idea.

However, just waking the cranky werewolf and asking him to leave didn't seem like all that great idea either. But his curiosity begged to know why he was there, why he had decided to fall asleep waiting for him to wake up rather than waking him when he arrived.

Making a decision, Stiles slipped to the door, opened it as silently as he could, and padded downstairs without bothering to put on more than the boxers he already wore. He rummaged through the kitchen, switching from foot to foot on the cold tile, grabbing a pair of bowls, a pair of spoons, a pair of bananas and a knife. Pausing, he scanned the area, opened a few cabinets, and produced a serviceable tray. He tossed the items on, poured two glasses of orange juice and looped a finger around the half gallon of milk as he picked up the tray.

Apology breakfast, he thought proudly. It probably wouldn't keep Derek from killing him, but it might delay him long enough for Stiles to apologize. It might also give him a chance to find out why the werewolf had chosen to fall asleep outside his window.

He trekked carefully back up the stairs, peeked around the door and saw the edge of Derek's knees in the window frame. Still asleep, Stiles decided, nudging open the door and maneuvering the tray to a good resting place on his nightstand beside the window. He grabbed a shirt from the floor, pulled it on, and moved back. The quiet scrape of the window latch caused the wolf to stir, and Stiles almost lost his nerve and bolted.

Scott's house wasn't _that_ far away...

He swallowed his fear, and drew open the window, but he was smart enough not to lean out and surprise the Alpha. "Derek?"

Derek's arm tightened over his eyes, and a scowl appeared upon his features, returning him to his former self. "Stiles? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Uh," Stiles replied intelligently. "Dude, it's my house. Shouldn't I be the one asking that question?"

Derek sat bolt upright before Stiles had finished speaking, turning to face the boy with a mixture of anger and bewilderment. "Your house?" he demanded, and then seemed to realize the truth of the statement. He had closed his eyes for just a moment, to collect his thoughts before going back to the station, and his exhaustion had caught up with him. Cursing inwardly, he rocked forward, ready to leap down and take off when Stiles cleared his throat significantly.

With the werewolf's acute attention focused upon him, Stiles smiled weakly. He hadn't meant to cough. He should have let Derek leave. He could still let Derek leave, if he just didn't say anything, or if he wished him well, or if he said something like 'say hi to the pack for me'. It would be so easy!

"Breakfast?" Derek asked, looking slightly confused.

Stiles clacked his jaw shut so fast his teeth tingled. While he'd been thinking of all the ways to send Derek along, his mouth had gone ahead and offered the breakfast he'd brought up with him. For a moment he stared dumbly, wondering why Derek was looking at him, when he realized the word had been a question. "As in food," he fumbled, stepping aside and indicating the tray. "Morning food."

Derek looked between him and the food and into the distance outside. "I have to get back," he said, not at all as firmly as he had wanted; he was hungry, had spent the time he should have been eating last night worrying instead.

Hearing the lack of conviction, Stiles pursed his lips. He could see the werewolf was exhausted. It was written in the drop of his shoulders, the lines of his face, the darkness around his eyes. It was in the way he had fallen asleep on Stiles' roof and when awoken meant to immediately set off for the next task on what was probably an endless list without so much as a bite to eat or a sharp word to Stiles. Suddenly he found himself with the same protective feeling he got when Scott took on too much and refused to slow down to consider the consequences because he was too busy doing everything for everyone else.

He didn't have to like Derek to know that the werewolf had put himself into dangerous situations to protect others, to protect him and his friends. Yes, his life might have come into danger due to the kanima eventually, but he could have let Scott and his friends try to sort it out alone. Let the Argents deal with it; they would kill Jackson as surely as Derek, if not more so. Stiles wasn't so sure they wouldn't kill Jackson as a human. His pack, perhaps, lived by the light of day as humans, and maybe he was worried about them, but at the end of the day, Derek had a hand in protecting all of them in some way, and Stiles didn't like owing favors.

He had to do _some_thing.

"Ok," he agreed, but held up a hand when Derek shifted his weight to jump. "But Derek- how long are you going to be able to protect them without sleeping or eating?"

Freezing, Derek stared across the backyard, processing the words. Irritation rose that, again, Stiles was right. He had been keeping awake more, finding less time to eat, and generally keeping too busy for himself since the kanima had shown its ugly face. It was getting bolder, which only meant he had to be more vigilant for others, especially for his new pack, training them to keep them alive. In turn, he had been more neglectful to himself.

"You can take a few minutes for yourself," Stiles prompted, echoing his thoughts almost exactly. "They won't miss you."

Attention shifting back, Derek searched Stiles' eyes for any sign of sarcasm. Finding none, he wavered only a moment longer before acquiescing with a frown to the request for breakfast company. Stiles opened the window wider, and passed the tray out to Derek, who stared dumbly at it, counting the bowls and silverware twice before realizing that the human meant to join him. Scooting over, he allowed Stiles to clamber out of the window, take a seat beside him.

"Like this," Stiles said, miming putting the tray on his thighs so it had a level surface. Derek followed the direction, and Stiles leaned in the window to grab the half gallon of milk. When it was settled between his feet, Derek passed him a bowl and poured himself cereal before passing that as well. It was flaky and looked bland, not what he would have expected of Stiles.

The human, for his part, poured the cereal, set the box inside the window, topped the bowl with milk, and began to reach for the bananas when he caught sight of Derek watching him. "What?" he asked, suddenly self conscious.

"Why are you doing this?" Derek asked. At the sound of Stiles' heartbeat rocketing upward, Derek sighed. "And stop thinking about lying."

Stiles stared straight ahead, attempting to stop thinking of excuses, and settled upon the truth instead. "I'm a little afraid you're going to kill me because of what I said at the pool, and I was hoping to delay you." That should do it. He found himself wishing he'd written a will after the first time Scott had tried to kill him. It seemed like it would have been so appropriate for this moment.

"I'm not going to kill you," Derek said, taking the milk from him.

"Oh thank god," Stiles said, his whole body relaxing. Suddenly he tensed again. "Why not?"

Derek passed him one of the spoons, stuck the other in his own bowl. Stared at the bananas as though they might be made to say his next words for him, so that he didn't have to. "Because you were right." He scowled, but the bananas did not apologize.

He forgave them on the grounds that he realized he had wanted to talk to _someone_ about the doubts that had been haunting him. Stiles would not have been his first choice, but it was Stiles that had observed the problem. Better to speak to someone that already knew, than to spread his weakness around to the ears of others.

Stiles glanced at him, quickly averting his gaze. Beside him, Derek began to peel one of the bananas slowly, stretching out the silence; Stiles didn't dare say a word to his previous declaration. The wolf started slicing the banana into the cereal. The motion was steady, rhythmic, the blade pressing against the skin of his thumb over and over without damage.

Suddenly, he stopped, a few slices from the bottom of the fruit, resting his wrists against the edge of the tray, staring into Stiles' backyard. "I wasn't meant to be an Alpha," he said, almost angrily. "Laura was supposed to be here. She was supposed to..." His words truncated sharply, stuck in his throat.

"I'm sorry," Stiles said softly.

They lapsed into silence, and Derek popped the end of the fruit into his mouth. He passed the second banana and the knife to Stiles, who followed suit. No one had ever cut a banana into slices with such guilt as Stiles felt at that moment. He remembered how Scott had found Derek's sister, how they had dug up her fresh grave, where she'd been buried by Derek himself so soon after losing her, turned him in to the police, accused him of doing it himself. Thrown it in his face to make him angry. In the long history of shitty things done to friends, he was pretty sure he deserved a prize.

"What was she like?" he asked finally, at a loss for anything else to say. "Your sister."

Derek began pressing the bananas into the milk with the back of the spoon, staring at them with a pained expression. He put aside his desire to just leave; no one else had asked him that question, had asked him anything about his sister, and he missed her terribly. Missed the stability she had provided, how she had always seemed to know what to do no matter what got thrown their way. He wanted to remember her, but not alone.

"She was very quick," he said at last. "You know, smart. Beautiful. Sure of herself, of anything she did. We were alone after the fire, but she..." He trailed off, cut a slice of banana in half with the edge of his spoon.

"You miss her," Stiles noted, gentle, not looking at the werewolf. He wasn't eating his own cereal; he felt a little sick. He had not heard Derek's voice take that tone before, so crushingly sad that it made Stiles remember things he had put away deep inside of himself.

"She shouldn't have fought him," Derek said. "Not alone. We don't fight alone, she told me that a million times."

It occurred to both of them that Derek was taking the advice she had given him. When he became Alpha he collected a pack, set about protecting those he had wanted to be a part of his pack. He may not have been protecting the Argents, but he hadn't tried to kill them, and they hadn't killed him either. Maybe they wanted to, but maybe they were changing their minds a little every time Derek saved someone. Chris and Allison, at the very least.

"We were close," Derek told him after a moment. "Before the fire we were close, but afterward... she was all I had. She poured everything into teaching me, protecting me. I had to leave town because she was neglecting herself. I wasn't here when she needed me."

There, he'd said it. The thought that had chewed at him since he'd arrived back in his home town. She had been his world for two years, had done everything for him, and when she had needed help, he'd been too late. He hadn't been able to protect her as she had protected him. He hadn't been there to protect his family when Kate had lit the fire; had practically been the one to hand them over to her.

He said he didn't understand why Scott tried to protect everyone, but that was it; he desperately did not want to be too late ever again. He didn't want to be responsible for the loss of more people he had come to love.

"A few years ago," Stiles offered quietly. "That's when I lost my mom. I know what it's like to lose someone that close to you. It sucks a lot."

Even as he said the words, it occurred to him that Derek had lost a lot more than his sister. The fire Kate started six years ago had taken all of his family except for his sister and his deranged uncle. By the tone of Derek's voice, his sister had meant a lot to him. Even the old Alpha must have meant something, been some link to Derek's past for him. With Laura gone and the Alpha's blood on his hands, Derek was left with no family, no home, no one or where to turn to.

Except Scott, the only other werewolf around. Except for Scott's pack, all of whom had rejected Derek in some way over the past few months.

"Derek..." he said gently. "You're not _alone_. You know that, right?" He glanced over, eyes tracing over Derek's face, flickering to the spoon he was using to mash around the bowl of flakes. "Scott might not have agreed to be your beta, and I'm with him on that, but just because we're not running with you doesn't mean we're running _away_."

For his part, Derek closed his eyes. What was there to say to that? The boy had struck upon his fear, and Derek's face admitted it as clearly as his voice would if he tried to respond. He wasn't sure which he hated more; that Stiles knew or that Stiles was right again.

"When I said that you didn't deserve to be Alpha, I meant it," Stiles continued, setting aside the knife, moving to lean his back against the side of the house so that he could face the werewolf. He grinned, stifling a chuckle with his next words. "Actually, you kind of sucked at it!"

"Stiles..." Derek growled, looking over.

"What? Ok!" Stiles held up his free hand in surrender, recognizing that Derek didn't have to tell him to shut up; his face said it quite clearly. "Anyway, so what? You sucked at it. You're getting better. Just... keep trying. You know, earn it. None of us, especially not Scott, are going to just follow you because you tell us to." He paused, and when Derek glanced askew at him he gave a halfway rueful smile. "You wouldn't want us, if we did that."

With a snort, Derek turned his attention back to the bowl in his hands, considered this for a moment, knew it to be true. He did want them... perhaps some of them more than others. "I can see why Scott keeps you," Derek muttered, but the ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. He took his first bite of cereal and ignored how soggy it had gotten. The bananas had made the milk sweet.

"Scott earned my respect," Stiles told him before taking a bite of his own cereal. "Your turn," he said around the food.

Derek's eyes became unfocused and Stiles hesitated with a spoonful halfway to his mouth. He knew that look. It said that Derek heard something with his freakishly good hearing, and was trying to figure out what it was. "Your dad," Derek said, as though reading his mind. "His car's coming."

Stiles held out one hand for the tray, his other hand holding his bowl. Derek handed it over, watched Stiles place his own bowl on it, and set it on his knees. He rocked forward, ready once again to leap down, but hesitated. Stiles' eyebrows rose in question.

"... Thank you," Derek muttered. "For breakfast."

"You're welcome," Stiles replied, amused that Derek was thanking him for a bite of banana and cereal instead of the conversation. "For breakfast. And thanks for not killing me. Or Jackson."

Derek scowled. "This doesn't change that," he assured Stiles. "I'm still going to try and kill the kanima, and whoever is controlling it."

"I know." Stiles smiled weakly. "And we'll keep getting in your way until we find a way to capture him. In retrospect, I'm sure you'll decide it would have been much easier to kill me."

"Don't tempt me, Stiles." Derek jumped down just as Stiles caught the sound of his dad's vehicle pulling into the driveway.

"So next time then!" he called after Derek, chuckled when he saw the werewolf's shoulders drop in irritation. A car door slammed as Derek disappeared, and Stiles leaned back against the side of the house. What a strange, strange morning.

* * *

Notes: I am currently searching for someone who would not mind sending me an invite to AO3. If you belong to the community and think you could help me out, please drop me a PM and we can work something out. Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

Author: Sparkle Itamashii

Title: A Question of Worth

* * *

**Chapter Four  
**

Head resting back against the wall behind him, Derek listened to the vet tending to Scott, the whisper of his hands over Scott's skin, pressing against the bones of his ribs, his hips, searching the bones for breaks and bruising. The wolfsbane in the boy's system was preventing him from healing, but already Derek could hear him breathing easier. He felt his own heart skip a beat at the memory of finding his beta prone on the floor in a room full of deadly wolfsbane smog.

His grip tightened on the cloth over his arm, eyes still closed. For a moment, before the Argent woman had attacked him, before he caught the faint, slow beat of Scott's heart, the almost inaudible draw of breath, he had thought the boy was dead. He'd thought he had arrived too late.  
Again.

Alan checked for Scott's pulse for the millionth time, laid a gentle hand against the side of his head, causing the teen to stir momentarily before lapsing back into sleep. Every protective instinct within Derek attempted to smother him at once as he watched, but he was weak and he knew the vet was only concerned. He wasn't going to take Scott away, wasn't going to hurt Derek's pack.

"Thank you," he murmured instead as Alan turned to leave. The man barely acknowledged him, lost in thought.

He settled back as the vet moved away, carrying with him the dirty gauze and bandages from cleaning Derek's wounds. Hand wrapped securely over the fresh bandage on his forearm, he worked to force his body not to heal the incision, but to instead use it as a gateway to purge the last of the wolfsbane from his system. He could feel his body rejecting it, feel it seeping from him and into the cloth, blackening it as he bled out the toxin. As it leeched, he could feel the stab wounds in his back knitting slowly, struggling against the poison and winning by fractions. In a few hours, he would be tired, but fine.

Scott, on the other hand...

He stirred again, fighting the wolfsbane, fighting whatever the vet had given him to purge his system and make him sleep. An unintelligible noise escaped him and his eyes fluttered open. Relief washed through Derek at the sound of his heartbeat strengthening as he grasped at consciousness. Peeling off his bandage, he allowed the incision to heal quickly, got to his feet to move to Scott's side as the teenager attempted to sit.

"Don't," he said softly, pressing a palm against Scott's shoulder.

"Allison!" Scott cried hoarsely, eyes hazy and frantic, swirled with amber but still too drugged to process.

"She's fine," Derek assured him, although he knew that would be far from the truth when she found out he had bitten her mother. He hadn't wanted to fight her, hadn't meant to bite her, but she'd had no intention of letting him or Scott escape alive. Perhaps Allison could be persuaded not to kill him when she realized he had done it for Scott... but perhaps not when she realized _what_ he had done. When she found out how hunters handled one of their own being bitten. "You're not though. Lie still."

The boy allowed himself to be pressed back against the table, settled. "Where are we? Allison's mom..."

"She ran," Derek assured him. "We're at your work. You needed help I couldn't give you." He looked down, loathe to admit it. He was Alpha, he should be the one able to tend to all of his pack. "I needed help too. I thought..."

The memory of Scott's dead weight in his arms strangled his words. _I thought you were dead_. His beta's heart, so weakly beating that it might have stopped, his breath halting just long enough for Derek to believe he'd lost him. The panic that had risen in his chest with every staggering step he took across town, afraid that if he'd tried to drive them he'd have crashed, killed them both.

_Please don't die._

He swallowed thickly. "I'm glad you're ok."

"What about the others?" Scott asked, still feeling sick from the toxins in his blood. His head was clearing, but slowly.

"I don't know," Derek told him guiltily. "They were fine when I saw them last, but you..." _You were going to die, and it was going to be my fault._

"I know. I'm sorry I couldn't help. She hit me with her car. When I woke up..." he trailed off, both of them knowing where it had gone. "She meant to kill me, Derek. She didn't care at all. If you hadn't..."

"But I did," Derek said firmly, dispelling the panic that was rising in his beta's tone. "I heard you howl, and I found you. That's how it works in a pack. We protect one another."

"Well... Thank you," Scott said tiredly. His eyes slid closed and he took a few long breaths. Derek resisted the urge to stroke his hair, contented himself with listening to the kid's heartbeat, to the sound of his lungs clearing a little more with every breath. Suddenly Scott opened his eyes, looked afraid again. "The Kanima!" he exclaimed, as though just realizing what their mission had been.

Guilt needled at Derek. "I forced Stiles to break the seal," he admitted through clenched jaw. "I'm sure it escaped."

"What? Why?" Scott cried angrily. "You had it trapped and you _let it_ _go_?"

"_To save you_," Derek growled, and he felt something within Scott shrink back, even if the teen gave no outward indication. "If we hadn't broken through, Victoria would have killed you. She almost killed you anyway. If I'd gotten there just a few minutes later..."

_You'd be dead_.

The sentence hung unspoken between them, but the idea did not seem to sit well with Scott. "Someone else is dead, then," Scott answered bitterly. "We let someone else die; someone else died _because of me_."

"No," Derek contradicted firmly. "Someone else died because of the kanima's master. Someone else died because the _hunters_ interfered. It is not your fault in any way, do you understand?"

Reluctantly, Scott nodded, though it clearly did not stop him from blaming himself anyway. Derek scowled, wishing he were better at this sort of thing. Perhaps Scott would talk about it with Stiles, who would surely be able to convince him of his innocence where Derek could not. He hated having to rely on someone, anyone, else to tend to his pack... but if it had to be someone, a small part of him accepted that Stiles was a solid choice. He'd be Pack, if he would accept the bite.

"Derek?" Scott said, and it sounded pitiful enough that Derek's stomach twisted. "Will you do me a favor?"

"Yes," he answered without hesitation.

"I don't want to call the others, in case they're, you know, fighting or hiding or something. You taught me it could give us away. But... Could you maybe check on them now? Have them text me if they're ok?"

"I can do that," Derek agreed, giving the boy half a fond smile. "If you promise to sleep."

"I promise," Scott said, and he was nearly out before he finished the sentence.

* * *

His first stop was not entirely innocent; he left for Jackson's directly from the vet's office, in case the boy was there. The windows were dark however, and even his guardians' cars were gone. The scents of the area told him they'd all been gone since before sunset; the adults probably hadn't been home since morning. There was a part of him that was disappointed; the same part of him that still believed they should kill the kanima and worry about the master once he was without a weapon.

He dropped by the station next, to ensure that his pack had all survived. Isaac had pulled the bullets from Boyd's wounds and Erica had treated the wolfsbane poisoning like Derek had shown her. He didn't withhold praise this time; he gave a few pointers to Boyd about what he could have done differently, should do differently next time, but assured him that he had performed admirably against the larger force of better armed Argents. He approved of Erica's quick thinking and sharp memory, and of Isaac's determination to carry through the plan.

Before he left, he insisted on checking all of their healing wounds - Boyd's from bullets, the others from Jackson's wicked claws - and making sure that they were actually healing. For the first time since becoming Alpha, he observed a Pack ritual with each of them individually. It was something his mother and father had done with him as a child, an act of comfort and support that he had not allowed himself to perform, afraid that it would bring up too many painful memories.

Each one of his Pack he drew in, a smooth hand on the nape of their necks, touching foreheads, the briefest brush of noses, eyes closed. _You're ok_, the gesture said. _I've got you, and you've got me._

It made him miss his family terribly.

But, he reflected as he sprinted onward with his night, perhaps it had begun to mend the raw pieces of him the death of his family had left behind.

For Scott's sake, he made a run by Allison's house, but it appeared that the Argents had not returned. He followed Scott's familiar path to her bedroom window, crept inside and left a note that simply said "He's fine," because he didn't trust that her parents wouldn't find the note first. He ignored the faint, stale scent of Kate hidden beneath the layers of fresh activity, and left.

When he reached Stiles' house, the boy's Wrangler was alone in the drive, meaning his father was still out. Light from his bedroom window spilled into the backyard as Derek leapt up to the roof, avoiding the beam and moving toward the half open window. He could smell Stiles long before he had crossed the roof, knew that he was here and alive, unharmed- or at least, not bleeding. Faint music drummed as loud as a rock band to his sensitive ears, and he scowled at the taste in music. Just as he reached the window, there was a small click and the noise disappeared.

"Going to make this a habit?" asked Stiles from above him.

Whirling, he found himself gazing up at where stiles perched on the apex of the roof, pointedly not looking at him, staring out over the neighborhood. He sounded tight, throat closed and sinuses stuffed; he sounded like he'd been crying. Derek focused, saw the red that was fading in the whites of the human's eyes.

"Scott asked me to check on everyone," he said carefully. "Are you ok?"

"I didn't get hurt," Stiles replied with a grimace.

"That's not what I asked," Derek told him, shifting so he was not crouched in quite so awkward a position as he had put himself when surprised.

"Well, it's what you're getting," Stiles said.

Derek's eyes narrowed, brows knit. "You're mad at me."

Stiles sighed, ran his hands over his short hair, elbows never leaving his knees, and forced a smile onto his lips. It didn't reach his eyes. "I'm not mad at you," he said finally. "I'm mad at me."

"You? Why?" Derek asked, still confused.

He shook his head in his hands. "I don't want to talk about it." His eyes closed.

Derek held himself very still, eyes tracing over the defeated hunch of Stiles' shoulders, the scrunch of his face as his lips pressed tightly together. Derek had seen that face before, had seen it for the past six years any time he looked in a mirror. Not talking about it didn't mean it went away. Didn't mean he would stop blaming himself for things that weren't possibly his fault. The death of the young woman at the club. Scott's run in with Allison's mother. The kanima escaping.

"Your circle worked," he said neutrally, remembering how happy the fact had made the boy.

Stiles made a noise that fell somewhere between scoffing and choking, and looked up at Derek. "Seriously?" he bit out. "That's what you're going with?" He sighed, threw himself back against the roof and stared up into the night sky. "It didn't work," he said. "It sealed, but I didn't even think about the people I trapped inside. Isaac and Erica. Allison." His nose scrunched in anger at himself. "Scott."

"They're all fine," Derek assured him. "I checked on all of them."

"They wouldn't have been!" Stiles snapped, then covered his face with his hands, scrubbed and let his arms fall wide to either side. "If you hadn't been there, Scott would be dead. I'd have just... he would have died. I would have lost him."

Lost, Derek stared at the kid laying perched above him on the roof's slant, could practically smell the blame rolling off of him. What could he say to that, that wouldn't sound like a placation? What words could he say that would mean anything, when he couldn't absolve himself of the same sort of blame, the same crushing feeling of guilt? There was nothing, and so he stuck to the truth.

"But I _was_ there, Stiles," he said softly, ignored the huff of despondent laughter. "I was there tonight and I'll be there next time, and the time after that. Because there's going to be a next time. If you want to stay involved in this, all of this, then there's going to be a next time and a next time and a time after those, and there's always going to be someone in danger. There's always going to be someone we almost lost, and there's going to be a time when, if you've been around all of this long enough, it won't be _almost_."

"You're not exactly comforting, if that's what you were going for," Stiles told him, but there was a part of him that did feel better. A part that took solace in knowing he was not the only one who realized how much danger all of them were in, not the only one who threw everything they could into protecting the others.

"None of the people at your side are stupid," Derek continued, as though he had heard his thoughts. "They know the risks."

Stiles pulled himself together, wiped discreetly at his eyes with the back of his wrist, and continued staring straight up into the sky. "I know, too." He sniffed, clearing his throat to hide it. "I know that, but it's just... I didn't _know_ it. I didn't realize what it _meant_. Not until I saw you running off with my best friend in your arms like a freaking rag doll, and I thought _this could be it._"

Derek nodded, but didn't push the issue. He remembered the first night he had ever encountered hunters, a night when he and Laura had been caught alone by a trio of them after dark. Their parents had talked about hunters before, cautioned them over and over about how they must not tell anyone that they were werewolves. Their lives depended on it, and in a vague way Derek knew that was probably true... but it wasn't until he saw the silver bullet haloed by Laura's blood that the idea struck home. There were people in this world that would kill them just for existing.

Finally, Stiles took a deep, cleansing breath and sat up to look at Derek. Even if his nose was still a little stuffy, the red had vanished from the whites of his eyes. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

"What?" Derek responded, eyes widening slightly at the declaration.

"I'm not going to be able to sleep," Stiles clarified, pushing himself up gently until he could stand, towering above the confused werewolf on the sloped roof. "I'm going to go pick up Scott, so I don't have to be awake all night alone. Do you want a ride back to your car? You left it at the club."

Derek relaxed and nodded agreement, trying not to examine too closely the flutter of disappointment that tickled at the back of his mind. He let the teenager scoot down the roof past him, through the window to his room. "I'll meet you at the car."

Stiles slid shut the window, locked it from the inside for all the good it would do against the things which hunted their group, and disappeared from his room. Derek closed his eyes, focused his hearing to listen to Stiles move through the house, scratch a note, probably to his father about his whereabouts. He wondered where the sheriff was tonight, if he had been at the club as well. Would he have been the one to answer the call about the body? Could he place his son at the scene of a crime... again?

Derek let out a heavy breath, slipped down silently from the roof. He rounded the corner of the house to the sound of the front door closing and locking. Stiles caught his eye as they reached the car doors. Derek nodded, opened the door, and settled in beside the teen. "Thanks," he said when Stiles' door shut.

Hand on the keys in the ignition, Stiles gave a half-hearted scowl. "Can we just... agree to not talk about our conversation? Like, ever?"

Containing a small smile, Derek nodded once.

Stiles turned the keys, and they were off.

* * *

Notes: I am currently searching for someone who would not mind sending me an invite to AO3. If you belong to the community and think you could help me out, please drop me a PM and we can work something out. Thanks!


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